Yaoi Fangirls and Insane Regulars
by Les-Gateaux
Summary: When the yaoi fangirls and tennis regulars of Hyoutei try pairing the captain and the narcileptic together, Atobe and Jirou really don't stand a chance...AtoJi


Disclaimer: If I could own just one of the Tenipuri characters (such as Atobe or Yukimura), I'd be happy…

Wow. I went and hijacked my little cousin's computer because the plot creatures (three thousand pound squirrels, this time) wouldn't leave me alone. Do you know how irritating it is to have three thousand pound squirrels running around in your head? Well, now I do.

And, instead of working on Bachelorette or Tensai, it's another pointless little drabble in the spirit of Christmas! Cheers! Dedicated to any AtoJi fans out there…

Yaoi Fangirls and Insane Regulars

There was the usual giggling in the hallways as Atobe passed by. It was a bit louder than usual, but that was to be expected; after all, he had just earned the title of Hyotei's Most Sought-After Male for the twentieth time in a row. It was obvious that everyone needed to bow down to his prowess.

He lifted a hand absently in the direction of one of his most avid fans – Sayuri, he vaguely recalled, smirking at the way she squealed at his acknowledgement – and continued down the hallway of Hyoutei Gakuen towards his locker.

Or, to put it more accurately, his row of ten lockers, each emblazoned with his name. (The principal had not exactly been pleased, but, after all, Atobe's father practically owned the school, so there wasn't much he could do.)

The diva noted that the majority of his fangirls were all crowded around his lockers, whispering to each other as he approached. He did his usual hair flip, earning the approval of the girls, and walked towards them confidently.

They parted as he drew closer, and the leader, Kurihara Akane, stepped forward. "Atobe-sama," she said breathlessly, "in the spirit of the holidays, we all combined our money to get you one gift. We all got you something separate, too, but…"

"That's kind of you," he replied, and smiled just enough to reveal flashing white teeth that belonged in a Colgate commercial.

Akane was temporarily rendered speechless, and one of her friends pulled her aside to reveal the gigantic painting stretched across three lockers.

Atobe had expected the painting to be of him, and indeed, he was in it; but, more importantly, his clothes were not. The canvas depicted him lying on velvet sheets (how had they known the exact color his sheets were?) with his arms wrapped around a certain all-too-familiar blond, whose clothes were also missing.

Granted, the picture would have only been rated PG-13, since the satin blankets covered anything explicit, but the artist had gotten a bit too creative, and…was that the edge of a condom wrapper peeking out from under the sheets?

It was possibly the first time Atobe had absolutely nothing to say.

He vaguely registered the sound of his bookbag hitting the floor, and if he had not been _the_ Atobe Keigo, it was quite possible that he would have fainted. As it was, he swayed a bit. "What…is that?"

"Don't you like it?" Eri asked hopefully. "I mean, we've seen you and Jirou together a lot, so we hired an artist to paint you two. I mean, as friends, but…well, I think she got a bit, um, overimaginative, but the overall effect's quite good, right?"

Two of the girls rolled up the painting and handed it to him. He forced the smile back on his face. "Thank you," he said, a bit shakily, and walked away without opening his lockers.

* * *

"Atobe!"

The diva jerked upright and turned towards the team tensai. "Yeah?"

"Stop spacing out. The teacher's asked you the same question six times." Oshitari jerked a finger in the direction of the balding man at the front of the room. "The answer's one half ln of x squared over e to the third."

Atobe dutifully repeated Oshitari's whisper, but in a louder voice, and the teacher gave him a very suspicious look before scribbling the answer on the board. The narcissist sighed and relaxed again. "Thanks," he hissed to the tensai.

"What were you thinking about, anyways?" Oshitari pryed, his eyes darting to the roll of canvas lying at Atobe's feet.

The captain shook his head in irritation. "Nothing," he muttered, and turned his attention back to the board.

The tensai watched until he was sure Atobe was distracted, then carefully pulled a thin notebook from his desk and transferred it to his captain's bag.

Across the room, Akane flashed him a smile, and Oshitari acknowledged the gesture with a slight nod.

Atobe stayed fairly alert for the rest of the period, taking careful notes – he was brilliant, but not brilliant enough to be able to absorb information without studying; besides, the boy next to him wasn't paying much attention, so Oshitari would be sure to request his notes later – and pointedly ignoring the giggles of the various girls around him.

Honestly, he had no idea how any of the said girls had found their way into an honors calculus class. It was just further proof that Hyoutei's standards were slipping, and slipping drastically.

The bell sounded, signalling the end of the school day. Atobe lifted the canvas, slinging his bag over a shoulder – it really was a pity that Kabaji wasn't in Calculus, since that meant Atobe had to cart the heavy bag around on his poor, delicate shoulder. (Of course, it was a given that Atobe had no respect for shoulders, seeing what he did to Seigaku's Tezuka Kunimitsu.)

Oshitari was talking to Akane, which annoyed Atobe slightly. After all, Akane was _his_ fanclub leader, and though she was a nuisance, the tensai had no right to be talking to her like that.

However, as the diva approached, he realized that they were eagerly discussing the merits of the fundamental theorem of calculus. It was times like this that he wondered just how Oshitari was supposedly so alluring to girls when he was so damned nerdy.

"Oshitari. Practice. Now."

The tensai glanced up. "I'll talk to you later, Kurihara-san," he drawled, and followed his captain obediently towards the courts.

The two of them had barely started out of the classroom when Atobe ran directly into another of his fangirls. (They seemed to be everywhere.) She let out a cry and fell to the ground, her books scattering everywhere.

"Sorry, he muttered, and absently scooped up the books, passing them back to her.

"Thank you, Atobe-sama," she murmured shyly. "Um, but this is yours, I think." Turning red, she held out a binder which he recognized as his English one.

He took it. "Yeah, thanks," he muttered, and continued off to practice.

* * *

Since it was the day before Winter Break, the clubhouse was filled with gifts to all the regulars. Atobe noted smugly that his presents occupied a good fourth of the room. No one even came close; even Oshitari had to admit that it'd take him a few centuries to be as popular as his captain.

Atobe set the painting down by his pile, glad to be rid of the thing. He glanced through his stack of gifts. Nothing too large, which was good; he'd specifically ordered for his chaffeur to arrive in a limo to pick him up, but even so, he was having doubts as to whether everything would fit.

Sakaki said nothing when he entered the clubhouse (the Regulars were mostly too busy studying their gifts to bother practicing), but his lips thinned slightly as he picked his way through the piles. "On the courts, now," he announced, his voice no louder than usual, just a bit colder.

Atobe ushered his teammates onto the courts. It was freezing outside, and he was quite glad for the genuine mink coat he could drape over his Regular's uniform. Along with the imported Siberian scarf, he was warm, indeed.

He felt a bit remorseful at the way he felt like a toasty marshmallow inside a fire while his teammates were shivering. However, the remorse soon passed; if they couldn't afford their own mink jackets, it wasn't his fault, was it?

Gakuto seemed to have it the worst, due to the way all his flips and turns constantly exposed his stomach. (It was probably just to attract Yuushi, but that wasn't the point.) The redhead's teeth chattered, and when he slipped on the ice one too many times and fell again, he didn't bother getting up.

Atobe frowned, walking over. "You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

"My fucking hands…" Gakuto moaned, revealing the gash on his palm.

"Go to the health office," the captain sighed resignedly. How irritating. He watched the other boy depart, raising an eyebrow at the way Gakuto's shirt still managed to defy gravity despite the fact that its owner was walking quite normally. Oshitari's eyes were following the redhead, he noticed.

Hiyoshi, carefully maneuvering around the bleachers, slipped a note into both Atobe's and Jirou's bags while the captain's back was turned.

When practice was over, it took Kabaji sixteen trips to load all of his captain's gifts into the limo. Atobe smiled – smirked, actually – and situated himself in the back of the vehicle for the ride to his mansion.

The presents were carted up to his suite by his butler, and he wondered vaguely which to unwrap first. He was not endowed with legendary patience, unless he was waiting for an opponent's shoulder or wrist to break, and he rarely waited until Christmas to open presents.

First, however, he unrolled the painting his fangirls had given him, and gazed at it curiously. He noted absently that the anatomy was a bit off, but only a bit. The artist had captured his eyes nicely, giving them the silver glow they only had in certain lights.

Jirou's hair was nice, too, the paint thicker in some places to give the golden tresses a particularly whimsical texture. However, Jirou's eyes seemed way too tired to be real; no one fell asleep while Atobe was making love to them, no matter how exhausted.

He shook away the bad thoughts and rolled up the canvas again with a rueful smile.

His individual gifts from the fangirls were fairly normal, chocolates and cards and cell phones from the richer ones. He unwrapped a few, then left the rest in the far bedroom (he had six of them). He gazed thoughtfully at the gifts from his teammates – usually fairly unpredictable.

Kabaji got him tennis equiptment, as usual, and so did Ohtori, Shishido, and Hiyoshi. He'd expected that. It was Gakuto, Oshitari, and Jirou he was wary of; technically, Jirou wasn't at fault in the present-choosing, since Gakuto usually dragged him to a random shop, placed something in the narcileptic's hand, and made him buy it for Atobe.

Oshitari's was the first he unwrapped, and he laughed softly at the book, titled 'One Hundred and One Ways to Increase Your Modesty'. It was accompanied with a ten-thousand yen gift certificate to Atobe's favorite restaurant. He was fairly touched, until he read the card, which stated, 'I hope the certificate's useful to you, and I know the book will be, if you manage to spend enough time away from the mirror to read it.'

Atobe turned next to the acrobat's gift, and pulled it open to reveal a stuffed, radioactive-green frog plushie. He twitched. Last year, when a frog had gotten into Hyoutei's dorm, everyone had completely freaked out. Atobe had spent the good part of the morning crouched in the windowsill, accompanied by half the team. Of course, as soon as the frog had hopped happily out of the dorms again, everyone had laughed.

It seemed Gakuto wasn't willing to let the captain's brief moment of cowardice slip by.

The card read, quite simply, 'Ribbit'.

Jirou's was next, and Atobe pulled apart the crudely wrapped paper with a smile. Inside, a box with – were those air holes? – was held.

He pulled open the top of the box and blinked down at the sleeping puppy inside. That was cute. He stoked the soft fur, and the puppy opened giant blue eyes and made a contented growly noise. Atobe noted vaguely that the puppy looked a lot like Jirou.

That probably meant that Oshitari had chosen Jirou's gift for him, since the tensai was a sappy romantic freak at times, and probably thought Atobe'd appreciate having a mini-Jirou around at all times.

Usually, Atobe didn't like animals much, but this was, after all, a present. Besides, the puppy was adorable. He watched as it yawned, revealing amazingly sharp teeth – well, that took away considerably from the 'cute' factor – and promptly fell asleep.

Yes, exactly like Jirou.

Deciding to open the rest of the gifts later, Atobe rummaged around his bag for his homework, which he always did on the first day of break. He pulled out a notebook he didn't recognize – thin enough to be unobstrusive, yet thick enough to probably contain many pages of notes.

Flipping it open, he scanned the pages for a name, and caught his own.

Seconds later, he saw Jirou's name.

Intrigued, he began reading, and turned a rather pale shade. _This_ was what they thought he and Jirou did in their spare time? This…this was disgusting! Repulsive!

He dropped the notebook, lifting his English binder instead, and opened it. A sheet of paper holding a crudely sketched 4koma – probably drawn by Gakuto – flittered out. He read the comic, now as red as a tomato, and ripped the paper to shreds.

Something was seriously wrong here.

Another loose sheet of paper fell from the bag, landing face up. He read it with a bit of amusement; it was supposed to be a love note to him from Jirou, but it was so obviously forged it wasn't even funny.

He pulled out his cell phone, pressing a number already on speed dial. "Jirou?"

"Ah…? Oh, buchou."

"Did you by any chance get a, um, 'love note' from me?"

Jirou paused, and yawned. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's Oshitari's handwriting."

"They're trying way too hard to set us up," Atobe remarked.

Another yawn. The narcileptic laughed softly into the phone. "I wonder how long it'll take them to realize we've been together for the past three years?"

"Well, let's show them on Christmas, at my annual party."

He could tell Jirou was smiling. "Sure."

* * *

The party was well underway. It was mainly just the Regulars, along with a few of Atobe's close friends.

In the middle of the banquet, Atobe stood up, calling for attention.

Heads turned as the diva calmly reached over and kissed Jirou on the lips.

When the two boys pulled apart, Atobe smiled. "I think," he remarked, "that now is the time to mention that Jirou and I have been together for the past three years, so you might as well stop trying to set us up."

There was a shocked silence in the room.

"And another thing," the egotist continued, his gaze flicking to Oshitari. "How _dare_ you suggest that Jirou and I would be fucking on silk sheets?"

The tensai gaped. "You mean…three years, and you haven't gotten there yet?"

"Did I say that?" Atobe stuck his perfect nose in the air, horribly offended. He glared at Oshitari, and finally disclosed the source of his irritation:

"Ore-sama only uses velvet."

* * *

"Thanks for helping, Oshitari-san," Akane called to him.

The tensai turned. "Anytime. Did you get enough pictures?"

"Yes, plenty of Atobe and Jirou together. Tell Mukahi-san that we're grateful to him for climbing through the window and installing video cameras all over Atobe-sama's rooms."

Oshitari shrugged. "I will. By the way, it seems this alliance failed, since Atobe and Jirou were already together. However…"

Akane's eyes glinted. "I know just what you're thinking. The yaoi fangirls and tennis Regulars should unite again to bring Taki and Sakaki together!"

"Actually, I was thinking Shishido and Ohtori, but…" The tensai's voice trailed off. It was possible he turned a bit green. "_Taki_ and _Sakaki_?"

"Yes! Their voices even rhyme! They're made for each other!" Shoujo bubbles burst into being around Akane.

There was a loud thud as Oshitari hit the ground, too many bad images crowding his poor mind. Atobe, passing by, looked mildly amused.

"Go on," he ordered, and his puppy, newly christened Jirou Junior, curled up on the tensai's face and promptly fell asleep.

The diva smiled.

"Good boy."

* * *

Yay, another crack!humor fic.

By the way, I recently wrote a SanaYuki drabble to test out their personalities. If you have the time, could you please go criticize it? Thanks. (I hate writing things like this. It makes it seem like I'm trying to get more reviews, but I really need to know everything I'm messing up with them.)


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